


A Fighting Chance.

by withoutwords



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: But Seriously It's Really Fluffy, Domesticity, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Robert's A Nice Guy Apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:25:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hard press on Robert’s heart seems to break open when he thinks, <i>I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this man</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fighting Chance.

**Author's Note:**

> There was a suggestion made on bisexualsugden’s tumblr about all the ways Robert would pop the question and fail (credit to you, anon!), and ever since it’s been stuck in my head :)

It’s a thick, silver band and nothing else. Robert thought about getting something engraved, something simple or sentimental – but that didn’t seem like Aaron. Like _them_. He remembers Andy had done that for Katie – the bleeding heart and declarations – and it’s not a wound he’d like to re-open.

It’s not a place he’d want Aaron to revisit.

“What’s wrong with ya?” Aaron asks Robert at breakfast, their toes pressed together under the table. The term ‘burn a hole in your pocket’ has been like loose change before now, almost pointless. Except Robert was carrying the ring in his jacket or his jeans or his dressing gown if he was truly desperate; and it might as well have been a million stolen pounds.

“What? Nothing.”

“You’re twitching. Your eye keeps winking, I thought you were coming onto me.” Aaron takes a gulp out of the juice carton, smirking. “Which, _surprise_ , you don’t need t’do that any more.”

“I, uh – well,” Robert runs his hands shakily through his hair. How he got away with their affair for all those months he’ll never know. “Well if you insist on ruining the surprise, I was going to ask you to come to Paris with me next week. I thought we could get a cheap room, buy cheap wine and look at the view out the window.”

Aaron’s still smirking. “Romantic.”

“We splurged on that flat-screen last month, that’s about all I can afford.”

“Why don’t we just hang a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the bedroom wall and stay home and shag?”

Robert can’t help spluttering on his coffee, enjoying Aaron’s soft little giggle. “Prat.”

“You mean it? You wanna go away?”

“Yeah,” Robert says, a little shrug to defy the press of anxiety cracking at his ribcage. “A change of scenery, something different.”

“Alright,” Aaron agrees, the smirk morphing into a grin, and the hard press on Robert’s heart seems to break open when he thinks, _I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this man_. “Yeah, sounds good.”

*

They don’t go to Paris. They fight over dirty laundry and Aaron almost cracks his skull open when they make up in the shower later. Then Debbie really needs Aaron to work, and they really need the money, so they fight over that too. Aaron forgets they had plans as easily as he forgets to take the bins out every week and Robert knows better than to let it bother him.

The old Robert would have. He would have felt bitter, hard done by, and snivelled about being unappreciated. He would have believed it, and Robert stopped believing that the day Aaron took him back.

Again.

“Let’s go out for dinner, tomorrow,” Robert suggests, his head buried in the soft cushion of Aaron’s stomach while they’re sprawled out on the couch watching telly. Spontaneous might be better. A good meal, champagne, candles and a ring. He’s seen it in the movies, how hard can it be?

“What? At _The Woolie_?”

“No,” Robert says with a sigh, and bites back on a sarcastic remark about Chas. “Something fancy, you know, three courses or something.”

“Oh, with horse doovies and all,” Aaron teases, tipping his voice, and Robert digs his fingers into thigh, then his knees, and then he has Aaron pinned back against the couch, his legs either side. Aaron’s just looking up at him, eyelashes and arrogance, and this is Robert’s favourite thing, this has always been Robert’s favourite thing. Their spark, that itching want that never goes away, that warmth under his skin like Aaron’s crawled inside and stayed.

“You’re making fun of me,” Robert says, breathy and close and grinding up, just a little, promises of what’s to come.

“Too right, mate,” Aaron says, snapping his teeth for a kiss while Robert pulls away.

“I’m not your _mate_ ,” he insists, and Aaron knows that, he knows saying it makes Robert want to push him against things. 

“What are you, then? Lover, boyfriend, _partner_ …”

 _Husband_ comes to mind, and the thought almost makes Robert want to laugh. It’s like a stupid, bubbling joy that he thinks he might have felt early on with Chrissie. With the thought of all that he would have, all that they would do. With Aaron it’s complete and utter uncertainty, like a big, white canvas waiting for colour.

“Dinner,” Robert says, definite, pressing his mouth so hard to Aaron’s their teeth clack. “Hors d’oeuvres and all.” 

*

They get through dinner. Aaron wrinkles his nose at the menu and gets half drunk on something he can’t pronounce and laughs when the waiter hits on him. He laughs more when he sees the jealous, ruddy colour of Robert’s cheeks, laughs all the way to the cab and all the way home until he really sees Robert’s anger. The way his own tie twists hard into his fist as he takes it off, splintered with it,

 _I was supposed to ask you to be mine and some other guy was trying to make you his_.

“Robert,” Aaron says with a hushing sound, crowding him against a wall, his hands like a brand against Robert’s waist. He buries his face in Robert’s neck, beard scratching long and hot and then he’s lining up his body to Robert’s, lining everything up. “I’m yours, you know that, don’t be stupid.”

Robert used to say those things. Don’t be like that, don’t do this, don’t, don’t, don’t. Robert’s still a bit of a prick. Still a control freak, still hates to be wrong. But whoever that man was that kept Aaron down, that kept breaking parts off, keeping pieces for himself, leaving nothing but a shell.

He doesn’t know that man any more.

“I love you,” Robert says (in case there’s any doubt left), when Aaron has him on his back on their bed. There’s an engagement ring in the pocket of his pants somewhere on their bedroom floor, and his hearts splashed against every corner of his house. In all the half empty boxes and ugly kitchenware he let Aaron buy.

“I know,” Aaron tells him, looking him in the eye, looking at his face. He knows there’s something hiding in there, he knows Robert’s holding back. “I know, I love you too.”

Aaron spends a long time on Robert. A long time pressing a wet open mouth to his skin, kneading and grabbing and pulling until he’s bruised. Aaron spends a long time getting Robert ready, thrusting fingers inside him until Robert’s humming and shaking and pleading, his knees up and his head back and his voice splintered with his need.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Aaron says, deep inside, starting off so slow Robert thinks he might die from the torture. This would be the perfect time, wouldn’t it, the perfect time to say it.

Aaron, I fucking love you, I love this, I love having you inside me and possessing me and marking me and fucking me, I can’t even tell you how much I love this.

Robert says, “Aaron,” and nothing else, just curse words and grunting and the quick hard slap of their bodies colliding. Robert’s got one leg around him and Aaron’s pushing the other out of his way while he fucks into Robert with short, bowed driving thrusts. It’s almost primal, it’s almost perfect, and Robert might say something just before he comes but Aaron swallows the words with a kiss.

“That was amazing,” Robert says, later, when he’s caught his breath and gathered Aaron into his arms. “I should get jealous more often.”

Aaron snuffles.

“Seriously though, I – I’m sorry if I seemed pathetic I just – I wanted to do something and that stupid waiter got in my way and I …” Robert lets his voice trail off. He could get up, find the ring, get on a knee or something. He could go and get one of those wilting flowers from the kitchen that Diane bought to ‘give the place a homely touch’. But he can feel Aaron’s heart-beating in his skin and his own is pulsing in his throat and he just says, “Aaron, I want to get married,” because it makes sense. They finally make sense.  
“Didn’t you hear me? I said - ”

Robert twists to see him, and snorts. Aaron’s asleep.

*

Robert plans a stupid party. With Aaron’s birthday’s coming up and the ring starting to tarnish, he thinks he might just snap and explode. He’d almost proposed over breakfast the other morning before imagining all the beans on toast jokes Aaron would haunt him with for the rest of their lives. It didn’t have to be fireworks, or trumpets, but it had to be something. It had to _mean_ something. 

“Can’t we just have beer and cake or somethin’?” Aaron groans the morning of, zipping his overalls to the neck and pinching a mouthful of Robert’s cereal.

“Yeah, we can, with the rest of the town. And your mother.”

“My _mother_ ,” he mocks, ducking away and giggling when Robert tries to reach for him.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll get Paddy to set up karaoke, Adam can break a law - ”

“Do one.”

“It’ll be a real, honest to God Emmerdale celebration,” Robert says, leaning back on his chair and grinning at Aaron to piss him off. Aaron pulls one of those deep-set, wrinkled faces that make Robert smile just because. 

“Yeah, somethin’ you and I _don’t_ do. So tell me, what’s in it for you?”

“Other than seeing my most beloved have fun for once, oh, I have no idea.”

“Fun? Fun is the footie and a blowjob before bed,” Aaron teases. “It is not Cain getting drunk and mushy and cryin’ all over me.” 

“Your party’s at eight, dear, don’t bring a thing,” Robert says, ignoring Aaron’s grumbles and moans all the way out the front door. He’s right, of course. These days they’ve become so domestic that they almost have to be forced out of the house with emergency evacuation procedures. One of _those_ couples, Vic had said once, don’t need anythin’ else but each other. 

Which wasn’t true. Aaron would go stark raving mad without Adam, or Paddy and Chas. If he couldn’t run off to his family every time Robert messed up, he’d probably have killed him by now. Robert needs Aaron more than he needs Robert, it’s true. He’s just not sure if Aaron gets it yet. If he’ll ever believe Robert completely (after their ripped and patched up past.)

“He’s not here,” Chas tells Robert when he gets into _The Woolpack_ that night, a big box under one arm and a handful of balloons in the other. There’s nothing in the box except an IOU on that trip to Paris, but he figured it would be worth it to see the look on Aaron’s face. To joke about climbing out of it later.

“It’s after eight,” Robert points out needlessly; there’s about six clocks in this place.

“Yeah, and he’s not here,” she repeats, looking harassed. The pub is brimming with people, and a few regulars are moaning about the service. “I’ve tried to text, and call, but he’s not answering. You think he might be skiving off?”

“I think,” Robert grumbles, drops the box wherever it lands and turns back around to head out. They’re five minutes from _The Woolie_ , three at a run, but Robert thinks he makes it in 2. There’s a few lights on inside, and Aaron’s shoes at the door, and when Robert calls for him he hears a meek grumble from the bedroom.

“If you’re hiding in here _I swear_ you’re going to pay me back with so many sexual fav - ”

Aaron looks up at him, pale and sniffling, the floor strewn with tissues and a bucket close by. “I’m sick,” he says, like gravel, like maybe he’s been throwing up all afternoon. Robert feels his stomach drop and his waist coat pocket suddenly become heavier.

“I’ll need to see a doctor’s note before I let you out of it,” Robert says softly, but he’s heading over there to run a cool hand over his forehead.

*

Aaron’s sick all week and into the next. When he’s not asleep he’s coughing, or wheezing or complaining incessantly until Robert just pays Diane to look after him instead. Aaron yells that Robert’s a heartless git and Robert yells that he’s _not a nurse, actually_ , and they spend a whole day giving each other the cold shoulder. 

Robert sits. He stands. He turns the telly on then turns it off straight away because he remembers Aaron’s asleep. He does washing up, and flicks through the paper, and starts to put his shoes on then doesn’t. There are no new e-mails, there’s no work, and if he makes another cup of tea he’ll scream.

All he wants to do is ask a stupid question.

“Aaron, will you marry me,” he tries, whispering, standing in front of the bedroom door that’s closed shut. “Aaron, I want to get married. I want to have a wedding, and a honeymoon, and let you shag my brains out – _Christ_.”

Robert sneaks in, knuckles white where his hand is clenched around the box. The lamp is on, and Aaron is sprawled out on his belly, and when Robert inches closer he snuffles and wakes. He looks like he’s been dreaming. He looks like a dream, and it feels like a dream, and why does Robert suddenly feel like Aaron’s going to say no?

“What’re you doing?” he says instead, Robert shuffling over.

“Just checking up on you.”

“Oh, you’re a dab hand now are you?” Aaron bites, curling in on himself and rubbing his eyes. “Diane got to take care of her own lot, eh?”

“Shut up,” Robert says simply, crawling over Aaron and tucking himself up behind him, throwing an arm over. Aaron’s still radiating heat, and he feels smaller, weak, Robert wonders if he can feel the drumming of his traitorous heart through his whole body.

“You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I love you,” Robert says, and can just imagine Aaron’s confused, bemused face even if he can’t see it. He presses a kiss to his neck, in his hair, enjoying the way Aaron keens for it, sighs. “I love you even when you’re a snotty, weeping infection and I have no interest whatsoever in sleeping with you.”

“Well this keeps getting better,”

“I love you,” Robert says again, and he’s twisting and pulling and opening the box and the ring shines like it hasn’t seen light in years. 

(That’s how Robert felt, before Aaron, wilted and nothing, so it’s fitting, it fits.) 

“I want you to marry me,” he says, and Aaron’s rolling onto his back and breathing so sharp it must hurt, it must hurt so good. Robert can barely meet his eye, can barely handle the unshed tears, the way he knows this bed and this quilt and this room will be all he ever wants in life. “Marry me,” he says, and he’s taking the ring out and their fingers are tangled and Aaron is scoffing. “Marry me and have rows with me forever.”

*

“Yes.”


End file.
